


Myself Again

by taggiecb



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Addiction, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Break Up, Communication, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Makeup, Mental Health Issues, No Smut, Post-Break Up, Rehabilitation, Relationship Problems, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:02:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27266911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taggiecb/pseuds/taggiecb
Summary: Louis knows that letting go of Harry was the right thing for both of them. And he shouldn't still be so upset after all these months. How could he be sad about losing something that caused him so much pain? But now he finds out that Harry is in rehab and Louis can't help but feel responsible. Will revisiting his past be a mistake?
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 13
Kudos: 85
Collections: 1d Breakup Fic Fest





	Myself Again

**Author's Note:**

> The purpose of this fic is entertainment, but addiction and mental health issues are a serious thing. If you suffer from addiction or have mental health issues that you are worried will lead you down that road please reach out to someone you trust. You aren't alone. You don't have to be alone. Everyone deserves a chance to be happy.

He didn’t mean to slam the door behind them when they walked in the house. His arm just kind of moved of its own volition, but the vibration of it echoes through the house and makes them both wince. He throws himself in the nearest kitchen chair. He’s exhausted. His body is tired, his mind is tired, and the waves of stress coming off of Harry’s shoulders as he fiddles with something on the kitchen counter is travelling over his last nerve. 

He knows what’s going to happen. Harry is going to apologize for the way he acted. He’s going to put his arms around Louis, holding him as tight as he can, nuzzling his face into Louis’ neck. And then he’s going to say something that he will think somehow excuses ruining not only their night, but their friends’ night as well. Again. Louis is too tired to pretend this is ok. 

The deep inhale that Harry takes breaks something deep down in Louis, and he just shakes his head. “No,” he says, looking at Harry, who is standing there, mouth open with his apology on his lips. “I don’t want to hear it.” 

Harry’s look of confusion quickly turns to annoyance, and Louis’ blood boils instantly. Harry doesn’t get to be annoyed. He doesn’t get to make Louis feel wrong in any way. 

“Come on, Lou, how did you expect me to feel?” He actually pouts. It pisses Louis off that that mouth used to turn him on. It makes him want to slap the face that it sits on.

“I don’t even want to pretend to care how you’re supposed to feel right now. How about you worry about how our friends are feeling?” He stands up, feeling that sitting is putting him at a disadvantage to Harry’s ability to fill an entire room with his negative energy. 

“Friends,” Harry says with an exaggerated grimace. “Some friend. He was all over you.” 

“He put his arm around me once!” Louis’ voice cracks on the last word and he wants to punch a wall. He feels like he’s talking to a wall. 

“Counting were you?” Harry sounds legititmately dejected.

“I just can’t wrap my head around what goes on in your brain sometimes. How can you say that you love me but not trust me long enough to go out to dinner with my best friend and his FIANCE?” He really didn't want to yell this time. He feels the phantom pain of sore throats of fights gone by. He can’t. He just can’t do this again. 

He doesn’t realise that he has closed his eyes until he feels Harry in his space. They’re so close that he can feel the heat radiating from his skin. He opens his eyes, and Harry’s green eyes are piercing into him. They’re full of want, and this is the most infuriating part. Infuriating mostly because Louis’ mouth suddenly goes dry when looked at like this, and his body longs for the heat of Harry’s even as his mind is screaming at him to just walk away. 

“I want to be the only one who touches you,” Harry says, not for the first time. Louis opens his mouth to reply but Harry’s mouth is on his, and all he can do is lean into it because no matter how mad he is, how tired he is, kissing Harry does only one thing to him and that is make him want more. He wraps his arms around Harry’s neck which gives Harry leverage to lift him against the wall. He can feel Harry get hard and knows that he’s betraying his lust as well.

A deep rumble of a moan comes from within Harry which would normally mean that they were going to move on to the bedroom and all was forgiven on both of their ends. Tonight though, Louis can’t do it. He breaks his mouth from Harry, not able to look him in the eye. 

“Whasswrong?” Harry murmurs into Louis’ neck. Christ, it’s like the last few hours didn’t even happen. He puts his hands on Harry’s shoulders and presses him away. He’s almost surprised that it gives Harry the hint to back up. “What’s wrong?” He asks again, looking more like the innocent sixteen year old that he was when they met, save the tick in his jaw that is the only indication of his frustration. 

He forces himself to look at Harry, really look at him. He needs to know that Harry is hearing him, but he can already feel the pain bloom in his chest, the tear trickles into the corner of his eyes. “Last night,” he starts, trying desperately to keep his voice in check. “I tried to imagine myself without you. The thing is, I could, and I felt so much better.” 

Harry looks like Louis slapped him right across the face. He steps back with a jolt, face going pale. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” 

“We aren’t ok, Harry. We haven’t been for a while. Maybe not ever,” he says, regaining some sort of power with his words. 

“That’s bullshit.” Harry is shaking his head as if he can rid himself of the words coming from Louis’ mouth. “There’s someone else, isn’t there?” 

“No, there isn’t anyone else.” Louis’ voice is a lot calmer than the storm that is roiling in his chest. “It’s you. It’s one hundred percent you, Harry.” 

“I knew you were going to do this to me.” Harry is crying openly now, looking desperate and slightly maniacal. Louis wonders if he should feel scared, but he doesn’t have time to worry about it because Harry is pulling his shoes on, almost ricocheting off the walls as he does so in the haste to get out the door, all the while repeating that he knew it was going to happen, going between screaming and sobbing. 

Louis wants to help him. He wants to console him, but he can’t. He knows that this has to happen. He doesn’t have time for doubt, so he stays silent, arms crossed and just watches him self-destruct. Then the door slams, and he’s alone. He breathes a sigh of relief and feels the muscles in his neck start to release. 

  
  


Louis doesn’t know if he would do anything differently if he had known that night would be the last time he speaks to Harry face to face. He spends weeks going over the conversation in his head, wondering how things went so wrong so quickly, wondering if it was even quick at all. Louis had wanted him to leave, didn’t he? Yeah he did, but he also didn’t have a thought cross his mind that Harry wouldn’t come back. He tries not to think about it too much anymore. He doesn’t succeed.

Harry’s name jolts him out of his thoughts, and he flushes red at the thought of being caught out thinking about Harry. Because as much as he thinks about it, he most certainly doesn’t talk about it. 

He looks up from the barely touched lunch that he’s eating to see Niall look at him expectantly. Niall’s mid chew and has his phone in one hand but is clearly expecting Louis to respond to what he was saying. “Sorry, what was that?” He finally asks, eliciting an eye roll from his lunchmate. 

“Harry’s in rehab.” Niall enunciates a little more than necessary to make a point. This time Louis rolls his eyes.

“How’s that my problem?” It’s an automatic response. Despite Louis asking, begging, yelling at one point to stop talking about Harry, his friends firmly ignored him. He can see their point, he supposes. They wouldn’t choose between the two of them. They wouldn’t tiptoe around anyone. He takes small comfort in knowing that they are torturing Harry in the same manner. 

Then it hits him. Rehab? “Real life?” He asks Niall who nods, slightly relieved that Louis is catching onto the severity of the situation. “I didn’t think people actually went to rehab in real life.” 

“Yeah.” Niall half laughs but there’s concern creasing the corners of his eyes. “I thought it was just for celebrities to get out of trouble when they say something stupid in public.” 

“Or someone who has a really bad problem,” Louis replies. Niall just looks at him, nodding slightly. 

They don’t say much at all after that, eating in thoughtful silence and then parting ways at the door of the restaurant as opposed to lingering for an afternoon beer and a chat like they usually do, but Louis is pretty sure of one thing. And it’s the same thing that’s running through his that he’s sure is running through Niall’s: What the hell happened to Harry?

He doesn’t get any work done the rest of the day. He stares at his laptop and the empty document that should have at least half a page of print by now, preferably more if his editor had anything to say about it, but it’s hard to write about baseball statistics when the person who he would have easily said he loved the most not even six months ago is going through something so potentially life changing and scary. At the same time, he feels ridiculous for worrying. Harry has made it more than clear that he wants nothing to do with Louis and has proven it by staying as far away from him as humanly possible. Even their stubborn friends couldn’t get them in the same room. No, it’s truly not his problem because it’s none of his business. Harry made sure of that. He’s going to have to learn to accept that. 

Except he can’t. He lies in bed more than twelve hours later, and his eyes feel dry from the contacts he hasn’t removed. His back aches from the tension in his muscles, but he can’t sleep because he knows, deep down in his heart he knows, that he’s to blame. At least partially. 

The night that Louis can’t stop running on a loop in his head plays a few more times. He felt tired that night, frustrated. But Harry was broken. And Louis just let him go, walking out the door to God knows where to be alone with his broken heart. And Louis did nothing to stop him. 

He’s cried over Harry Styles, more than he would like to admit even to himself, but something inside him still feels a bit ashamed for doing it now. He thought that he was having it so bad, moping over having to watch their shows alone, to eat dinner on a Tuesday by himself. And here was Harry…. He can’t even finish the thought. He allows the overwhelming sense of grief wash over him, leading to a fitful, dream-filled, sleep. 

The most difficult part of finding out where Harry is currently residing is swallowing his pride and asking someone. Niall is his safest bet as he is the one who had the courage to talk to Louis about it. Louis still feels like the condescension was unnecessary. It was another week or so before he could work up the nerve to call, hoping to speak to Harry and at least apologise. He is informed by a lovely, soft spoken woman that phone calls and visits are limited to Saturdays, but visits are more encouraged than calls. He gets the entire speech about face to face encounters being more beneficial to their patients. He wants to ask her what about what was best for  _ him, _ but he is not stupid and just thanks her before he nearly tosses the phone. 

He didn’t plan to actually see Harry. The idea of having to look him in the eye when he apologises terrifies and sickens him. What if Harry just denies him? What if he won’t even see him? That’s a new thought that jolts him even more. He knows realistically that he would be better off just calling and saying what he has to say, but that niggling voice of conscientiousness that sounds alarmingly like his mother keeps asking him who it’s better for. 

It’s a Saturday afternoon when Louis is driving down a winding road, shaded by pine trees that allows just enough light to filter through to know that it’s going to be a beautiful sunny July day. He feels as though he’s been driving for days although it’s only been a little over an hour in actuality. His gps informs him that he’s only a few minutes from his destination, and the ball of nerves in his stomach that has been growing steadily since he woke up this morning seems to jump into his chest. He has no idea what to expect and that is something that is scary for him on a good day. He has done his best to research this rehabilitation facility, and while it’s not the rolling hills and private lake that television seems to want people to believe these places look like, it's charming and has an almost soothing atmosphere from the pictures and video tour on the website all the same. 

Nothing on the website could prepare him for meeting Harry face to face though, and the fear of that unknown makes him want to turn right around and go home. He’s here now though. The parking lot has a few vehicles that pull in while he’s mustering the nerve to walk towards the building. He watches the faces of adults and children both. They range from excited to apprehensive to downright agitated. 

He isn’t agitated, nor is he excited. To be honest for the most part, he’s confused. How did he end up here? How did Harry end up here? How does anyone end up here? Especially Harry? He doesn’t want to dismiss the problems of all of the people who are in this building in front of him, but Harry...Harry is special. Louis thought at one time that there was nothing that he couldn’t handle. The last night they were together flashes through his mind again, the look on Harry’s face when he finally walked out the door. Maybe not everything. He looks up at a woman who walks past his car, making her way towards the front door. He catches her eye, and she gives him a look. A look of understanding, of comfort. Like she knows what he’s thinking, what he’s going through right now. He’s sure that she doesn’t, but the human connection gives him the tiny slip of confidence to at least get out of this vehicle and head toward the door himself. 

“Do you have an appointment?” The woman behind the small desk asks him when he asks to see Harry. She has a no nonsense look and is directing it towards Louis with unwavering ferocity. 

“I didn’t know anything about making an appointment,” Louis flounders. His palms are already sweating, and while this woman’s face hasn’t changed at all, Louis could swear it looks slightly more disapproving. 

“It’s all explained in the introduction. Were you not in contact with his contact person?”

Louis feels like he’s in one of those dreams where you’re suddenly in school with no clothes on. “No, I don’t know who his contact person is.” 

“Mhm,” the woman says, still boring holes into his skull. “What is your relationship with the patient you are hoping to see today?” 

“Um…” He really doesn’t have the energy to answer that one. He’s sure this woman won’t take ‘it’s complicated’ for an answer. “Can’t you just ask him if he wants to see me?” 

She visibly sighs at this. “The mental health of our patients is our number one concern. I don’t know you, I don’t know your relationship with anyone in his building. I don’t know if the mere mention of your name will damage months or even years of progress that a person has made.”

Louis feels like he’s going to cry. The woman may perhaps sense that as she sighs again and her shoulder visibly stoops. “The best I can do is take your information, call the contact, and ask what they think. I can’t promise anything, but if you want to have a seat, it will be a little while.” 

Louis weighs his options. It would be so much easier to just go home. He already feels exhausted, and he hasn’t even confronted Harry yet. But he’s here, and somehow knowing Harry is here as well creates a pull to stay that he can’t seem to break. So he nods, finds the closest seat, and tries to be patient. 

He stares at his phone but doesn’t really focus on what he’s scrolling through. He would generally enjoy just sitting and people watching. but he feels like in this setting it’s inappropriate. He knows that he feels wholly uncomfortable with the few glances he’s gotten sitting in the open for people to see. His distress is written all over his face. He has no doubt of it. So he doesn’t instantly notice when a shadow falls over him until it speaks. 

“Louis, what are you doing here?” Harry’s voice makes Louis’ breath catch as his head snaps up. 

He doesn’t know what he expected when he saw Harry. It’s been months after all, and he’s in a rehabilitation facility. He guesses that he imagined what a person who needed rehab might look and made assumptions from there. But Harry looks just like himself. Actually, maybe even a younger version of himself from that dark night. He’s wearing a pair of dark green khaki shorts and a soft blue cotton t-shirt that Louis remembers him buying. He remembers because they were together, wandering through the mall last summer, and Harry said that he liked the colour and it was only five dollars and what a steal. 

His face isn’t lit up with amusement and general happiness now though like it was then. Right now he looks...Louis doesn’ t know exactly. Upset? Concerned? The corners of his mouth are pulled down into a frown and there is a deep set line between his eyebrows. An indication that he might make this face a lot. It hurts something deep inside Louis to think that. 

“I came to see you.” Louis sounds like he hasn’t spoken a word out loud in years. His voice cracks, and the sounds don’t want to come the way they should. 

“Why?” The question is abrupt, and it jolts Louis almost physically. 

“Is there somewhere that we can talk? More private?” Louis looks around, but there isn’t actually anyone paying attention to them. Just the woman who he had spoken with earlier, tapping away at her laptop. 

Harry hesitates for a moment, the near scowl on his face never easing, but eventually just puts his hand out towards a door that leads to the back of the building. “Let’s go for a walk.” 

The silence between them as they walk makes the seconds feel like hours. Louis is struck with the realisation that in all of the turmoil in his mind about Harry’s situation, it didn’t cross his mind how much it would affect him to just be in the same place as Harry.  _ His _ Harry. There is just such a tidal wave of emotion roiling through him that he doesn’t know where to begin to process. 

They stop suddenly. Louis looks around to see if there is a destination that they’ve reached, but they’re still on a well worn path. Harry stares at him with an intense gaze that makes Louis immediately want to squirm. 

“Why are you here, Louis?” Harry asks again, and honestly the more he’s here in Harry’s presence, the less he knows the answer to that question. 

“To...to apologise mostly.” Louis wrings his hands together, wishing he still smoked to give him something to do with his hands. 

Harry’s look of brooding turns to one of confusion, which Louis wasn’t expecting. “For what?” 

“For my part in this, you being here.” Harry still looks confused, but doesn’t speak. “The last six months, I mean they have been hard for me too, but this...I’m just sorry that night led to this.” 

Harry’s look of confusion leaves, and the scowl is back. He keeps walking, but Louis follows, not sure what else to do. “I appreciate your concern, Louis,” he finally says, sounding really, really tired suddenly. “But us breaking up isn’t why I’m here right now.” 

“Oh,” Louis isn’t sure where to go from here, and Harry sure isn’t giving up any enlightenment. 

Harry sighs again and stops, but he doesn’t look at Louis this time. In whatever way Louis imagined how awkward and painful this encounter was going to be, he isn’t prepared for this. 

“I need to have this conversation with you, Louis,” Harry says. His voice is softer now, and the feeling of Louis’ heart cracking takes him off guard. “I planned to have this conversation with you. But I’m not ready.” 

Harry looks at him again, and a hint of a smile is touching his lips. Louis wants to touch them, and feel the soft skin under his fingers. He aches for it in a way he didn’t know he would. “And I don’t think you are either.” 

Louis nods, wholeheartedly agreeing to that at least. “This is a lot to process.” 

“Tell me about it,” Harry mumbles, almost under his breath and Louis feels immediately guilty. 

“Sorry.” 

“It’s alright,” Harry says. Louis believes him. 

“Are you alright?” Louis asks, feeling like a complete dick for not even thinking to wonder that. He assumed that Harry is of course not even a little alright. He’s in rehab. But looking at him now, he’s not so sure. 

“I’m going to be.” Harry nods and actually smiles for the first time. God, Louis missed that smile. 

“I’m glad.” 

He realises that the path they were on looped them around back to the building that Louis walked through. He’s disappointed, and it takes him off guard once again. 

“I’m really sorry if me being here hurt you,” Louis says before they reach the door. 

“I kind of expected it to hurt more than it did,” Harry replies, and that should make Louis happy, but it doesn’t. Seeing Harry digs up a lot of feelings that he knows haven’t left him but he thought that he would be better at pushing them down at least. “But I’m glad that you came.”

“Are you?” Louis half laughs at the absurdity. “This has been the most awkward afternoon of my life.” 

Harry chuckles quietly as well. “Facing you has been my biggest fear since I’ve started to rehabilitate. I knew I had to do it, and I know I’ll have to do it again, if you are willing.” He adds, and the frown is back for an instant. “But I know now that you don’t hate me beyond forgiveness, and maybe you’ll be open to what I have to say when I’m ready.” 

Harry’s ears are pink, and it’s the only tell that he’s nervous. Louis wants to comfort him, but he doesn’t know how and doesn’t know if he even should. 

“I have never hated you, Harry. Christ.” He runs his fingers through his hair and digs his fingers in in order to distract him from getting too emotional. “I’ve never wanted…” He doesn’t know how to finish this sentence. Now is not the time to talk about their relationship. Harry isn’t ready for that, nor is he, clearly. 

“Yeah,” Harry agrees even though the words weren’t said. 

Harry looks tired again. Louis feels exhausted as well, but he isn’t ready for this to be over. “Listen, if I came back. Just to see how you are. Would that be ok?” He feels a lump in his throat. He doesn’t know why. Five minutes ago he didn’t plan on coming back to this place ever again, and happily. But now, the idea of Harry not wanting him here threatens to break the delicate membrane that seems to be holding him together. “Maybe I’ll bring Niall with me. You know he’d never find his way all the way out here.” 

Harry laughs at this, but nods. “I would like that.” He smiles, and it’s the smile that he fell in love with years ago as a shy eighteen year old. He wants to take a picture of it. “And not just because you promise me Niall.” 

“Yeah?” Louis asks, just to hear Harry say it again.

“Yeah, I would like it very much.” 

“Ok then.” He can’t stop the grin on his face, and he doesn’t really care at the moment. “I’ll see you again, then.” 

“I’m looking forward to it. See you later, Louis,” Harry says and then turns to wander off back down the path. It feels abrupt but necessary. How long would Louis stand here, clinging to Harry, just to have him to talk to for a few more moments? He doesn’t know. He walks back to his car and sighs loud and long. The drive home feels like an endeavour, but he needs to keep moving forward and not think about the feeling in his gut that he’s leaving Harry behind. 

At their lunch the next week, Niall stares at him in a brooding manner that is starting to make Louis annoyed. 

“Ok, what’s your problem?” He finally asks after what feels like the thousandth glare in his direction. He came to this lunch quite chipper, and Niall is killing his buzz really quickly. 

“You went to see Harry,” Niall says with a monotone that leaves Louis confused as to how to react. 

“Yeah, I told you this,” he replies. 

“Are you sure that was the best idea? You haven’t seen him in months.”

“Well, of course I wasn’t sure it was a good idea, but I felt like I played a part in what got him there, and my conscience wouldn’t allow me to ignore that.” 

“Your conscience. That’s the problem though isn’t it? It’s not about you. It’s about Harry getting better. What if this makes it worse?” 

Louis is floored. Of course he had these fears when he decided to go to the facility, but him and Harry had a good talk. He thinks, anyway. 

“I was trying to help,” Louis says through gritted teeth. This shouldn’t affect him, he knows, but seeing Harry, being with him made him feel so validated. He slept better for the first time that night than he had since Harry left. Harry was happy to see him! 

“I believe you,” Niall says, sounding more disappointed than previously annoyed and that somehow pisses Louis off even more. He feels like a child being scolded. 

“And I’m going to go see him again,” he replies in an act of defiance. “He wants you to come as well, but that’s your choice. I’ll go with or without you.” 

He glares at Niall, refusing to break eye contact. Niall stares back, never flinching before saying after a long pause, “I’ll come.” 

Louis nods. “Good.” He throws a twenty on the table between them and walks out the door without another word or another look at his best friend. 

He knows enough to make arrangements to visit Harry this time. His sister, Gemma is his contact and despite the trials that he had gone through with Harry, she is more than happy to hear from him. Unlike Niall, she is also very pleased that he wanted to continue to visit with Harry. It’s an uplifting discovery since his stilted conversation with Niall. At least someone thinks he is doing something right, because God knows he doesn’t. 

So three weeks after his first visit, he and Niall are making the same drive through the heavily treed country road. They still aren’t being comfortable around one another. The drive has been basically silent with the exception of the occasional sigh from Niall. Louis is trying his best to ignore them except a sigh of his own slips out after looking at the grim look on Niall’s face. 

“Why are you doing this?” Niall finally says. The sudden harsh tone of his voice causes Louis to cringe. 

“Doing what?” Louis asks. It earns him a glare. 

“Don’t play dumb, Louis. It’s not a good look on you.” 

“I don’t see why you are so upset about this. Harry and I have known each other for six years. He’s going through some shit. I’m…trying to be supportive.” 

“You know he was seeing someone.” Niall stares him down, giving him no chance to keep his face neutral as that icy dagger stabs into his heart. “Before he went in.” 

“Ok.” He feels like all of the air is being sucked out of his lungs. Somewhere in the recesses of his logical brain he knows that it’s none of his business what Harry has done over the past seven months. But Christ, he can’t deny that the thought of him with someone else hurts. 

“Still want to go see him?” Niall crosses his arms like it’s a challenge. 

“Of course I still want to go see him!” The outburst is unexpected by both of them and stuns them into silence for a few moments once again. Of course he still wants to see Harry. He’s thought of nothing else since the last time. But he’s not going to say that to Niall, or anyone. “What I would really like is for you to tell me why you’re treating me like I killed someone. Why are you so angry?” 

Niall slumps back in his seat and blows out a breath. “Fuck, sorry,” he says, almost to himself. 

“Sorry,” he repeats, voice a little stronger. “I just… I was there on the tail end of your relationship. And I love you both but I never want to see either of you go through that again. And I never want to see Harry do what he’s doing now again. I just want everyone to be happy. I was hoping that Harry going through rehab and both of you moving on would be for the best.” 

Louis doesn’t know what to say to that. Niall is looking at him with almost a pleading look. He wants Louis to promise that is exactly what will happen, but he can’t make the words come out. He can’t promise anything. 

The smile on Harry’s face when he lays eyes on Louis and Niall just about breaks Louis’ heart. He gives Niall a hug so tight that they look as though they are melting into one another. Louis doesn’t get a hug, but he does get a small wave as Niall is still clinging to him and a shy smile that reminds him of being young and in love. A smile that reminds him that he isn’t Harry’s last love as well, and he wishes that didn’t hurt. 

It’s a beautiful day outside again so that’s where they go. With less walking this time, they find an unoccupied tree and sit down, practically touching knees as Harry seems to not be able to get enough physical contact. 

“How’s it been?” Niall asks him after the idle gossip from Niall and him. Nothing too dramatic, nothing that would upset him. If Harry noticed that they were being careful with him, he never mentions it. 

“It’s been hard, but at the same time good,” Harry answers and glances at Louis from the corner of his eye. He wonders if Harry is worried that Louis is judging him. He wants to tell him it’s ok. “Once I stopped counting down the minutes until I could get out of here, I started actually listening to the people who are trying to help me.” 

“Listening is good,” Niall replies. Louis can tell he’s floundering. Louis knows how he feels. He doesn’t want to hear about Harry being upset or struggling. He feels like a sadist approving of this treatment knowing the burden that Harry has to bear. 

“It is,” Harry says, smiling a lopsided grin. Harry can see the struggle as well. “And so is talking, and so is thinking. The physical part of addiction is painful, but it’s the mental and emotional part that will stay with me for a long time. That’s the part that I am working on. 

“Is there anything we can do?” Louis asks, and it gains him a surprised look from Harry and a glare from Niall. He doesn’t know where it came from himself. He doesn’t think he can do anything for Harry. Clearly Niall thinks the best thing he can do is stay out of Harry’s way. 

Harry pauses, clearly thinking of an answer instead of brushing it off and saying he will be fine, the way he would have before. “Some people that I have talked to said that their family and friends wanted to pretend that it didn’t exist. They thought it would be better to act like the person never had a problem. They thought that bringing it up would encourage the person to want to do it again.”

“Like sex ed when we were in middle school,” Niall jokes, and Harry laughs as well. 

“Yeah, kind of like that. Talking about my addiction, my mental health issues, isn’t going to drive me to want to do it again. And people pretending I didn’t go through this would make me feel like they were pretending I didn’t exist, I think.” Harry frowns and looks at his hands that are clasped together in his lap. “When I get out of here, I want to have a normal life, but I don’t want to feel like I don’t exist.” 

This time he does look at Louis, who can only nod, hoping that the promise to never ignore Harry is told in his eyes. Harry smiles a half smile at him and looks at Niall who looks like someone broke his heart right then and there. 

“We all love you, H,” Niall finally chokes out. “You’ll never feel alone again.” 

Louis didn't feel as great on the drive home this time as he did the first. He realises how selfish it is of him to assume that he would. He keeps comforting and simultaneously hurting himself by reminding himself that it isn't his problem anymore. He's just a bipartisan witness. He's a nobody in Harry's life. He knows that’s complete bullshit of course. He's not stupid. He isn't innocent in all of this. But could he really do anything that won't make it worse? Niall is probably right. He should stay far away from Harry Styles. 

"I'm sorry," Niall says from the passenger seat. Louis almost forgot he was there. 

"For what?" 

"Being so harsh about you coming here. It was none of my business." Niall says it like it’s a rehearsed speech, and Louis doesn’t know if that makes it better or worse. 

“You were right. I shouldn’t have interfered with his life. Now now. Not anymore.” Not ever, he thinks but ignores the bitter taste in his mouth that the thought creates. 

“Really?” Niall asks, sounding confused. “Because he seemed pretty happy to see you.” 

This makes Louis more annoyed that it should have. “Well if it makes Harry happy, I guess we should all do it then,” he snaps and feels immediately like a large piece of shit. 

“And this is why I tried to warn you,” Niall quips back just as quickly, the cold back in his tone. 

“I said you were right didn’t I?” Louis glares at him as well as he can without taking his eyes completely off the road. “Can we move on and Harry can move on and maybe one day we can all be happy?” That won’t be today, Louis thinks. Not for a long time. But happiness is definitely not going to happen with the constant reminder of what he lost when he let Harry go. 

“You’re just as fucked up as he is,” Niall grumbles, but it’s mostly under his breath. Louis doesn’t have the energy to either argue or agree. So he pretends he doesn’t hear him, and they spend the rest of the drive in silence. 

Louis decides that he isn’t going to go back to see Harry. He’s not sure what he thought would come of him going in the first place. A friendship? He’s certain that he can’t just be friends with Harry. Closure maybe, and they got that right? They finally get to part ways on good terms. Their friends don’t have to be conscious of speaking the other’s name. He doesn’t have to feel that lead ball in the pit of his stomach when he hears Harry’s name. That’s better than what he could ask for, he thinks. And Harry can move on as well. He can heal and focus on making himself better. He doubts his ex landing himself in his life is making anything easier for Harry. That’s what he’s telling himself anyway. 

Niall doesn’t ask him about it either. He knows that Niall has gone back to see Harry because he said that he was busy the last time Louis had asked him to go out to a movie on a Saturday. He didn’t say why he was busy, so Louis assumes it’s Harry. So really, if Louis doesn’t go back, everyone wins. 

It’s been a month, and it pisses him off a little that he misses Harry. It was two very short visits where they really didn’t say a whole lot of anything about anything. It shouldn’t matter. 

Except he gets a letter in the mail, and it’s from the facility. And it has Harry’s handwriting on it. 

  
  


Dear Louis, 

This seemed like a good idea when I sat down to write it, but now that I have the pen in my hand, I have no idea what I actually want to say.

We are encouraged to write letters to people we know and care about. People whose lives may be affected by our path. I’ve been writing mostly to Gemma and Liam and Niall. And while I’m sure they’re getting sick of hearing from me, it’s been a really great exercise. I’ve had to admit things to myself and to them. I’ve learned a lot as well. 

Which is why I thought maybe writing to you would help. I’m sure I’m not the only one who noticed that you haven’t come back. I’ve gone back and forth over the last few weeks being annoyed with you and annoyed with myself. Annoyed with you because you didn’t come. Annoyed with myself because I expected you to. You didn’t promise you would come back. You didn’t commit to being part of my life again. I have no right to expect you to. 

But God, Louis. I want you to. It’s probably stupid of me. The past should stay in the past, I know. There are things that you don’t know, and I’m not sure I’m ready to tell you yet. Maybe it would be better for both of us to just say our goodbyes now. I’m selfish. I feel selfish. But I miss you more now than I did when we first broke up. Having you as a person who spends a few hours a week with me sharing awkward small talk is better than what I had before which was nothing.

I’m not begging. I promise I’m not. If you think it’s best to keep our relationship neutral. I will respect that. I won’t like it, but I’ll respect it. I just thought that maybe if I put myself out there, you could make your decision based on all of the information. 

Please, if you do nothing else, be honest with me. Tell me how you’re feeling. Even if you think it will hurt. I can only promise you one thing and it is that I will be honest with you as well. 

Sincerely, Harry

He stares at the letter, letting the words blur into an unintelligible mass. What the hell was he supposed to do now? His chest hurts with the emotion that he can feel spilling from the sentiment that Harry has poured into his words. He wants to throw it like it’s burning him. He forces his brain to stop trying to read between the lines. He refuses to believe that Harry wants anything but someone to talk to on his precious moments of contact with the outside world. He has to keep his heart protected. 

He clings to the knowledge that Harry gives him the heartbreaking option to just walk away. He wants to so badly, but he also feels like taking the offer would be akin to tearing off his own arm. It would hurt more than he could imagine possible, and then he would be walking around not as a whole person anymore. He knows that this is how he would feel like he knows that the sky is blue. Like he knows the colour of his own eyes. 

He doesn’t know how much time has passed since he opened the letter but he knows that his feet are starting to ache from standing in the same place for so long. He folds the letter and places it carefully back in the envelope. He places it on the kitchen counter next to all of the other semi important correspondence that needs attention sooner than later, and he walks out the door. 

It’s so ironic that he could laugh really. Sitting in a bar, getting drunk because his ex is in rehab and trying to get his life together and in the act, somehow tearing his own life apart. He does laugh, one short burst that sounds more like a cry of pain than joy. The bartender gives him a sideways glance but ignores him. He doesn’t recognize her. He’s actually never been to this bar before. He did that intentionally. He doesn’t want to talk to anyone. The mental slap in the face stops his thoughts in his tracks. 

That’s a lie. He does want to talk to someone. Only one someone though. Harry. 

“Fuck!” He says out loud. It earns him a glare from the bartender this time, and he makes the decision to just leave before a large angry looking man makes the decision for him.

The air outside is warm and humid to the point that his skin instantly feels damp. It’s nauseating. He just wants to be home, but he also really doesn’t because that letter is there and everything inside those walls makes him think of Harry. 

He starts walking instead. He doesn’t know where he’s going. He just feels the need to get far away from his own life. 

He wishes he could talk to Harry. He pulls out his phone and stares at the contact list. Harry is still there. He couldn’t bring himself to delete it. He knows that Harry doesn’t have his phone. He couldn’t possibly. He can barely take calls through the facility. Maybe that’s why it makes it so easy to type out  _ I hate you  _ and send it into the void. It doesn’t make him feel better per se, maybe just more validated. More connected to the earth. That is until the phone vibrates in his hand. He looks down. 

No you don’t

_ How are you answering this? _ The thrill of having Harry to talk to is quickly replaced by the dread of the content of the message. 

It’s Gemma. H asked me to keep his phone in case of emergencies

_ Oh like his boyfriend calling?  _ God Louis hated himself sometimes. And now was definitely one of them. 

Then the phone was ringing. “Shit,” Louis hisses to himself as Harry’s face pops up on the screen. 

“I don’t really want to talk about it.” He only remembers how drunk he is when he slurs most of the sentence into one mass of syllables. 

“Did Harry tell you that he’s seeing someone?” Gemma asks. She sounds perky and alert in contrast to his sluggish drunkenness. 

“No.” Louis takes a deep breath, trying to wake himself up. “Niall did.” 

“Mhm,” Gemma says. She sounds annoyed. Or angry. Or tired. He can’t tell. “And how is that any of Niall’s business?” 

Louis feels more over it than Gemma sounds. “I know that it’s none of my business,” he replies, sounding almost normal now. 

“You care though.” It’s not a question. She doesn’t give him the air time to respond. “Maybe you should ask Harry about it.” 

“I don’t—” He doesn’t know how to finish the sentence. He doesn’t, what? Want to see Harry again? Want to know about Harry’s love life? 

“Are you ok? Are you someplace safe?” She interrupts him again. 

He looks around, taking in his surroundings for the first time since he left the bar. He realises that he’s almost home. His subconscious brought him there even if his heartbroken brain didn’t want him to. “Yeah, I’m almost home,” he tells her, and she sighs. 

“Drinking alone isn’t going to answer your questions. It didn’t answer his,” she says. and the blunt words knock him sober almost immediately. “Call me if you need someone to talk to. But talk to him too. He’s the one who’s going to say what you want to hear.” 

“Goodnight, Gemma.” He wants to tell her that he loves her, but he doesn’t think he has the right. 

“Night, Lou. Talk soon,” she replies and hangs up. He walks up to the door of his condo and reluctantly walks in alone.

Louis stares at the blank piece of paper feeling utterly ridiculous. He hasn’t written a letter since he was a teenager, and he would sooner forget that painfully awkward part of his life. But his alternative is to face Harry and let everything lay open between them. He doesn’t have a choice. He hates that he doesn’t. 

Harry, 

When I came to see you a few weeks ago I honestly had no idea what I was looking for. I guess if I’m being honest it was mostly to clear my conscience. I certainly wasn’t looking for a relationship with you. I didn’t want it. I didn’t think I did anyway. I wanted to know that you were going to be ok, and if you weren’t, there wasn’t anything I could do to change that. 

But then I found you. You, Harry. The one who makes me laugh, you who used to comfort me through my worst days. You who would talk me out of my horrible fashion choices. (When I was younger anyway. I have impeccable taste now.) I didn’t expect to find you because I haven’t seen you in a long time. A long time before you walked out the door that night. 

I don’t know what has happened in the months that we were apart but I convinced myself that the man I fell in love with was dead and gone. I grieved for that man. I mourned him. And I got over him. And now here he is. You’re so close. But we are so far from where we started. There’s a lifetime between us. And that hurts a lot more than I was expecting.

I’m not going to ask you to explain to me what has happened. It’s your life, and I removed myself from your business a long time ago. But I don’t want to be an outsider. I don’t know what that means for either of us, but I think if we ever see one another again, there are things that need to be said. It’s not an ultimatum. And there isn’t a time limit. If you want to talk. I will talk. If you don’t, that’s ok. If you’re not ready, that’s ok. But knowing that there is this canyon between us is just going to keep a stalemate.

It makes me so angry that I am hurting over us again, Harry. I hate it so much. I can’t pretend that that hurt isn’t there. I can’t pretend that it didn’t hurt when you walked out the door. It hurt every time we fought ,and it hurt when you tried to ignore it the next day. I can’t do that. I don’t know if I ever will be able to forgive you for that. But I need, if nothing else, closure. 

I know that this isn’t what you wanted to hear. I’m not even sure if anything in this letter makes sense. But I’m typing with my heart, not my head. 

Louis

When he finally gets the nerve to send the letter he tells himself that he will be ok with whatever outcome that comes. That turns out to be more easily said than done when two weeks pass and he gets no reply. His emotions spin on a loop between relief, sadness, anxiety, and anger. He would rather feel nothing at all, to be honest. He contemplates talking to Niall, but he knows how that would go. He knows that he brought this on himself. He can’t bring himself to grovel to Gemma. He resigns himself to mourning the end of his relationship with Harry...again. And then he starts all over again in the morning. 

It’s a run of the mill Wednesday at the office for Louis. He’s staring at his computer screen but not really able to focus on what it’s telling him. He’s got at least a dozen emails that are likely considered urgent by the people who sent them to him. It’s not even sunny outside, just a gray haze of cloud making everything look a little bit dull. 

He’s almost zoned out enough to miss the gentle knock on his door. He wonders if he’s fallen asleep and is dreaming when he looks up to see who has interrupted his dreary aesthetic. 

“Harry?” He sounds small and childlike to his own ears. He would call it pitiful even. 

“Um, is this alright?” He asks, looking as out of place as a person could in a nondescript office door. He’s referring to him being there, and Louis could almost laugh or cry. 

His mind catches up with the scene playing out in front of him, and he jumps out of his chair. “Of course! Come in!” 

He offers Harry a chair, but Harry politely shakes his head. He wants to close the door and give them some privacy, but Harry looks like he’s about to jump out of his own skin. He leaves it open. He doesn’t know what to say next. “You’re here.” He doesn’t know if he should be happy about it or not. 

“Here I am,” Harry replies wryly. 

“You know, as opposed to being…” 

“In rehab. You can say it Louis. I know where I was.” Harry almost sounds annoyed with him. He braces himself for that conversation. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. He’s genuine. He wishes that this would all go away. “And you’re not anymore.” 

“I’m not at the facility anymore. I’m still doing a lot of work.” Whatever’s stuck in Harry’s craw seemed to be relieved slightly, and he finally sits. 

“Ok.” 

“I did get your letter.” Harry gives him a gaze that heats up every pore on his body. “I told you when you first came to see me that I wasn’t ready to talk to you about what happened to get me to where I needed rehab.” 

“I’m sor-” Louis is about to apologise for that demand. He wishes every single day that he never said it, but Harry stops him with a hand up. 

“You had every right to need to know, so don’t be sorry. It hurt to see what you had written, but it was more motivation to finally push through a lot of my hang ups, more than anything else had been. So thank you for that.”

There’s no humour in Harry’s face, no lilt of warmth in his voice. Louis hates it. He wants to shake the Harry that he knows out of whatever shell is in front of him. 

“I’m not going to say you’re welcome. I don’t like any of this.” 

“We can’t just flip a switch and make everything ok, Louis.” Harry softens ever so slightly once again. Hearing his name come from Harry’s lips warms him and hurts him in equal parts. “I came here to ask you for something. I didn’t know if you would be interested at all, but I’m going to ask anyway. You are allowed to say no, I promise. That doesn’t mean I won’t be hurt if you do, but that’s ok, too.

Louis would say yes to having his left foot being hacked off at this point if he thought it would make Harry smile for even a second. “Of course, anything.” 

He takes a shaky breath, and Louis wants to hold him. “I’m in therapy.” Harry says this with a grave tone that would make someone think that this was the most shocking thing that he has revealed in the last few months. “I would like for you to come with me.” 

He looks at Louis in a similar way that Louis feels that he is looking back. Painfully scared but hopeful. “I would like to explain to you what had happened in therapy. It would just be the one time.” 

“Tell me when, tell me where. Tell me to wear a pink unicorn onesie. I’ll be there,” Louis says with desperation. 

Harry laughs, a quiet, blissful chuckle. Then he nods his head, stands up, and with only a small wave at the door, leaves. 

A couple of days later Harry texts him the time and address of the appointment. There is no other information with it. Not even a hello, or a thank you. To say that Louis is frustrated is understating it. But he only replies with an affirmative that he will be there and tries to keep his mind off of all things Harry until that time arrives. 

He stands outside a nondescript stone building with the name Dr. Cross formally embossed into the glass door. This is the right place, and he’s only a few minutes early. He wonders if he should just go in or wait for Harry. He would rather wait, but somehow it feels invasive. He takes a deep breath and puts his hand on the door just as he sees Harry half jogging up to his side. 

“Hey,” he says. It sounds soft and sweet, and Louis wants to soak in the tone that it sets. 

“Hi, I was just about to go in.” 

“She’s great, nothing to be nervous about.” Harry smiles briefly, but it’s at the door, not at Louis. 

“Speak for yourself. She’s your therapist after all.” He feels immediately apprehensive about saying it. It was meant as a joke, but this is serious. And he doesn’t want Harry to think he’s not taking it as such. 

But Harry rolls his eyes and shakes his head, an amused lilt of his lips on his face as he pushes the door open and holds it for Louis to walk in. 

Louis sits in a low armchair, staring at Dr. Cross, a desk between them. She’s a kind looking woman with dark curls framing her face, and an upturned mouth. He can feel Harry next to him, fidgeting with the seam of the chair. 

“Now Harry, Louis,” Dr. Cross begins. Her voice is slow and soothing. “I’m led to believe from Harry that you two had a relationship.” 

She’s looking directly at him so he nods and with a dry mouth answers, “Yes, that’s right.” 

“And it ended nearly a year ago?” 

The way she says it makes it sound like a contract closing, neat and simple. It was there, and then it wasn’t. 

“Yeah,” Harry says, sounding as dreadful as Louis feels at the moment. He’s milliseconds away from reaching his hand out to take Harry’s before he remembers. 

Dr. Cross simply nods. “Louis, do you know why Harry asked you here today?” 

He wants to say that he doesn’t have a clue, but that’s not quite true. “He told me that he had things that he wanted to say. I guess that he wanted to be in a safe place to do it?” He looks at Harry for confirmation, and he barely nods his head. He looks ghostly white. “We don’t have to..” 

“No,” Dr. Cross says curtly. “We do. This is a turning point for Harry and if he doesn’t overcome this obstacle it can put his progress back.” 

This annoys Louis. Can she not see how upset Harry is? He turns to see if her bluntness upsets him as much as it does Louis, but he’s nodding along with what she’s saying, almost looking stronger from her words. Alright then. He keeps his mouth shut. 

Harry takes a few deep breaths and plays with a little pebble that seems to have suddenly appeared in his hand. “You wrote that letter,” he begins.

The urge to tell him that it’s fine, that he doesn’t need to bring it up, comes bubbling to the surface once again. “Please don’t interrupt me, Louis.” 

Louis stills. He didn’t even say anything, and Harry knew. “You said in your letter that there were things that needed to be said. And I knew that you meant that there were things that I needed to say. You wanted an explanation. Is that right?” 

Louis guesses that it’s his turn to speak now. He doesn’t quite know what to say. “I guess I did, yeah. Although there were things that I wanted to say to you as well.” 

“I’m sure there are.” Harry’s mouth curves in. Not a smile, just an acknowledgement that the entire situation is ridiculous. “We were children when we met. But that didn’t mean that I didn’t know that I was one hundred percent in love with you. I would have done anything, I would have gone anywhere. I would have stood on my head if I thought it would make you smile.”

Louis’ throat clenches. Everything Harry is saying is true. Those first couple of years were magical. He knows it’s corny to say so, but there isn’t any other way to describe them. 

“Still, even today I wonder if there was something more I could have done. I know what I could have done. But at the same time, I know that I couldn’t.” Harry trails off, seeming to go into his own head again. 

A surge of frustration rises in Louis' chest. “You’re not making any sense, Harry. You did make me happy.” He pauses. Up until he didn’t that is. 

“And look where it got me,” Harry says, and the room goes silent. 

Louis can hear the beating of his own heart. He looks over to Dr. Cross who is listening attentively. Harry seems to be curled in on himself, and Louis feels like he’s been underwater for too long, he’s desperate for a breath of air. 

“Are you saying that you turned into an addict from trying to make me happy?” He didn’t mean the words to sound accusatory, but they were just that and he can’t change it now. 

To Louis’ surprise Harry doesn’t fly off the wall. He doesn’t get defensive. His calm almost makes Louis nervous. “I’m saying that my need to make you happy completely overshadowed my ability to make myself happy.”

“If you weren’t happy, why didn’t you just say so?” Louis crosses his arms over his chest and fights the urge to just get up and walk out of the room. He can feel the doctor’s eyes on him, and sees her eyebrows raise at his outburst. He can almost hear the silent conversation that her and Harry must be having right now. Harry probably told her that this is exactly how this conversation would go. 

“I was trying to be a supportive boyfriend. You had a new job and we were in a new city and everything was stressful enough.” Harry’s voice is calm. It makes Louis want to punch something. 

“You were unhappy with me for that long? Since we moved? That was three years ago!” Louis feels like he’s pleading. He can’t control the emotion toiling through his body, but at the same time he wonders why he still cares about this. Why does it even matter anymore?

“I didn’t say that I was unhappy with you, Louis.” Harry shifts now, moving his knees closer to Louis’. His voice isn’t that monotone calm anymore, but it’s not upset like Louis’. Louis realises somewhere in the recesses of his mind that he’s been over this conversation before. Harry probably already knows how it’s going to go. He’s not being blindsided by it like Louis is. For some maddening reason that’s comforting to him. 

“With your life. Yeah, I got it.” Louis tries to control his voice, tries to get his emotions in check. He fails miserably. 

“You were the only good thing in my life,” Harry practically whispers, and it breaks something in Louis. Tears spring in his eyes, and a baseball sized lump forms in his throat. 

“Why then? Why did everything go so wrong?” He rasps, trying to avoid eye contact with both Harry and the doctor. 

“I was losing you,” Harry says simply, voice as even as ever, but the sadness still apparent. “I was losing you to your job and new friends and big city. And all I had was me. I didn’t have anything. Except you, and I was losing you.” 

He does look at Harry now. There are tears streaming down his face that Louis wouldn’t have guessed were even there by the tone of his voice. 

“That’s not…” Louis begins to say but then stops. He really stops and thinks of the year that they had been here in the new city. Harry’s struggles to get work. The descent of their relationship that Louis didn’t even notice until it was too late. “But you weren’t an addict then.”

To Louis’ surprise, Harry actually laughs. A short  _ ha _ that could be interpreted as a scoff just as easily. “What makes you think that?” 

“Surely I would have noticed.” He looks at Dr. Cross for this confirmation, but she is sitting silent, lips pressed tightly together. 

“You were gone a lot of the day. A lot of the nights as well. I don’t blame you. It was your work.” Louis would call him an outright liar, but he can imagine where that would get him. “It was worse when we would go out. Seeing you with all of your friends. All of the people I had to share you with. I don’t think I had once come home from one of those nights that I wasn’t borderline blackout drunk.” 

“But everyone drank.” He’s pleading again, looking toward Dr. Cross and Harry who are giving him a twin look of what he can only interpret as sympathy. 

“Did you never notice, Louis, that I would go on a quick errand before we went out for the evening? To the store, or a walk around the block to get a little exercise? You never saw the pattern there?” 

It’s clear to everyone in the room that he did not. Why they are torturing him with this inquisition is beyond him. He shakes his head and feels shame to do it. Where the hell was he for all of this? He knows, and he wants to damn himself to hell for it. He was living in the illusion that his life was perfect. Everything was going his way. 

“I was drunk before I ever left the house those nights. And by the time we came home, I was someone I didn’t even recognise. 

“And I never even fucking noticed.” Louis puts his head in his hands. He would like to cry now. It would be better than screaming, but just like he couldn’t keep the tears in minutes earlier, now he can’t seem to find them at all. 

“Well,” Harry says, and Louis looks up and sees that he’s sort of smiling. “This brings us to the part why I wanted to talk to you today.” 

“We’re just getting to that?” Louis asks. He didn’t mean it to be funny, but Harry smiles apologetically. 

“If you can handle it, yeah.” 

“Do I get to say anything in this? Or am I just here to listen?” He asks Harry who, for the first time it seems, notices that there’s another person in the room for them. He looks for reassurance from her before he looks back to Louis. 

“Yeah, if there’s something you want to say.” It’s clear to Louis that Harry doesn’t think that there’s anything Louis could say at this point, but he would be wrong on that. 

He takes a deep breath to settle himself. He doesn’t even know where to begin. He looks at Harry who seems anxious. It breaks his heart. “I’m so sorry.” It’s all that comes out. “I’m so fucking sorry, Harry.” 

This is when Harry’s face crumples, and it takes only seconds for Louis’ to as well. He’s getting up before he even knows what he’s doing and curls himself into Harry’s arms. He is sorry, not only for his part in it, but everything that has happened after. It hurts in every part of his body and soul knowing what Harry has suffered, knowing that he only really knows a small portion of it.

“I’m sorry, too,” Harry’s muffled voice says into Louis' neck. 

They hold each other like this for minutes. It feels like seconds but also hours at the same time. They separate when Dr. Cross clears her throat. 

“Harry, I hate to do this but if you want to finish your session with Louis today we will have to continue.” 

Harry releases him then and nods, sniffing loudly. Louis takes his seat again and feels a physical pain to lose Harry’s touch. Harry takes a deep breath again. 

“When I left, that last time,” he begins, and Louis can see the jolt of pain run through his features by saying it. “I was in a really dark place.” Louis can see the haunted look on Harry’s face at the memory. “And I blamed you.” 

“That’s ok,” Louis says, emboldened by their raw emotions. 

Harry just nods, not really acknowledging the forgiveness. “And I blamed you for a long time after that. I surrounded myself with people who encouraged me to blame you. Encouraged a hate in my heart. An excuse to allow myself another drink, another pill, another line.” 

Harry looks at Louis with his confessions. They’re a shock to the system, but he just nods, hoping that his face is one of understanding. 

“I was...with someone,” Harry says, looking absolutely wretched. Probably almost as wretched as Louis feels hearing him say it. “He...was the same. He hurt. He wanted something to take the hurt away. He wanted to be around people who would make him feel like what he was doing was ok.”

Louis can tell that this is the part of the story that Harry was dreading. Not because of the confession to Louis, but because he’s reliving it in his mind, and he can tell how much it hurts to do that. He reaches out and touches Harry’s arm for comfort. Harry sighs, visibly relaxing into his touch, so he leaves it there. “I thought that at least if we had each other then we could keep each other safe. Someone would always be there to make sure we got to bed at night. We would look out for each other.” 

Louis wants to argue with this logic, but he knows damned well that Harry knows it was bullshit as well. So he keeps his mouth shut. 

“One day I woke up in a crack house. I had no idea where I was. I had no idea how I got there. I had no idea who any of the people there were. I had no money on me. My wallet was gone. My phone was gone. I had to call Gemma to come and find me.”

Louis knows how hard this would have been for Harry. He squeezes Harry’s forearm where his hand rested and Harry covers it with his own. 

“She took me home, where Dillon was curled up in my bed. Fast asleep. She dumped a stale cup of water on his head and asked him where I was. In his confusion he didn’t see me standing in the door and told her that he couldn’t deal with my drama and dropped me off at a friend’s house. He dropped me at a crack house and went to bed in my apartment.” A flash of anger flares in Harry’s eyes, and Louis is glad of it. Anger is better than sadness. It’s a way to fight. “She told me that I was getting rehab right then and there. I agreed because I didn’t know what else to do. She kicked Dillon out and changed the locks on the house. I haven’t heard from him since.”

Louis literally has no words. He wants to find this guy and cut his balls off. He knows that he won’t, but how does one respond to that? He doesn’t think sorry will do it this time. He doesn’t have to come up with something though, thankfully. Harry takes another breath and continues. 

“Rehab was hard. I wanted to leave, but I had nowhere else that I could go that felt good or safe. I knew if I kept going the way I was that I would end up on the streets. I knew that I needed to get my shit together. But for some reason, I just couldn’t find it in me to care.” He squeezes Louis’ hand that’s still in his. “Then you came to see me.” 

“Harry.” Louis doesn’t want to take responsibility for Harry’s recovery. That isn’t on him. He visited a couple of times. That’s it. But Harry shakes his head. 

“You visited me, and I was happy to see you. There was hurt, of course there was, but the part that made me want to hurt myself was gone. I didn’t realise until you came. And then you came again, and it was just happiness to see you.” Harry smiles at this and Louis can’t help but smile as well, albeit a shaky one. 

“Then you didn’t, and it was despair all over again. I couldn’t rely on you for my happiness, Lou. Not again.” 

“Good,” Louis says, and he means it. 

“But I still missed you, and I’m allowed to miss you. I loved you. God, I still do.” 

Louis refuses to dwell on that at the moment. He knows he’s going to have to, but there’s more to Harry’s story than his love for Louis, and Louis wants Harry to find that. “And then I stopped coming.” 

“And then you stopped coming,” Harry says, but he doesn’t frown, he doesn’t withdraw. He sighs resignedly. “I missed you. And all I could focus on was wanting you to come back. I thought to myself, and I said out loud a few times as well that the least you could do is come and visit me. So I wrote you the letter.” 

“You didn’t get the reply you wanted,” Louis says, apologetically. 

“Thankfully,” Harry says, surprising him. “See, what I didn’t realise. Refused to let myself see over all of those months, years even, was that I wasn’t the only one hurt.” 

Harry’s face breaks again, but it’s just tears that flow easily down his cheeks at this point. 

“I hurt you. I hurt a lot of people. That is why I was there, at rehab. And once I realised that, my recovery started.” He looks at Louis, staring into his eyes with a familiar intensity. “That’s when it started, Louis. That was the beginning. That is what I wanted to tell you.” 

Louis doesn’t know how to feel. It’s like every emotion that he has ever felt in his life has floated to the surface of this mind and is trying to pour out of every pore in his body. Anger, pain, happiness, love, fear, anxiety. He doesn’t know how long they sit there, silent, before another throat clearing from Dr. Cross breaks their trance. 

“I’m afraid that is all the time we have today, gentlemen.” She looks at them both kindly. “But I would like to say before you leave that this has been a wonderful session. I want to thank you Louis for joining us. I hope to see you again sometime.” 

And just like that, the spell is broken. 

When Louis walks back out the door of the building, he feels as though it’s been a hundred years since he walked in. He feels exhausted, like he ran a marathon and then immediately got the shit beaten out of him. He just wants to go lie down somewhere and sleep. He doesn’t even know if he could sleep. The past couple of hours keeps coming back to him in flashes of hurt and confusion and deep emotion that he didn’t even know he was capable of. 

He can feel Harry hesitating behind him. He doesn’t want to turn around and see his face. He doesn’t want to say goodbye. The problem is, he doesn’t know what he does want to say. If he’s being honest with himself, and he might as well do at least that for himself, he wants to cling to Harry and not let go. He could really use a hug from someone that loves him. 

He sighs, the flash of Harry saying that he still loves Louis doesn’t bring him the comfort that he’s seeking, and he can’t pretend it does. He turns around and sees Harry, almost as he imagined he would be. Standing a few feet away, awkward and slightly intense. Louis finds it hard to even look him in the eye. 

“Are you alright?” Harry asks him. He wants to laugh at the question. He doesn’t know if he will ever be alright again. 

“I think so.” 

Harry nods, the lie building a wall between them, weighing them down. 

“Did you want to go...maybe get something to eat?” Louis asks, sounding pitifully hopeful despite wishing he didn’t even say the words. He just doesn’t know how he’s going to live his life after this. 

Harry gives him a longing look, but after a pause his shoulders sag and he shakes his head. 

“I think I should go.” Louis can see the internal struggle going on in Harry’s head. He can relate to that at least. “Thank you for doing this Lou. I know it was hard for you, but it did help me, and I can’t thank you enough for that.” 

God, Louis ached for him. “Harry—”

“I have to go.” Harry cuts him off, not unkindly but abruptly. Before Louis can protest, Harry is just another body in the crowd milling about on the sidewalk. 

Louis doesn’t know why anyone would go to therapy on a regular basis. He has been an emotional wreck since he walked out of that office, and he doesn’t really see a light at the end of the tunnel. He does relent that he was kind of thrown in the deep end, and he’s sure that not everyone’s experience would be that if they went regularly, but Jesus. He feels like an exposed nerve, and he has no idea how to fix that.

He’s entirely sure that having dinner with Niall won’t help, but he couldn’t bring himself to admit why he couldn’t, so here he is in their regular spot, absently people watching while waiting for Niall to sit down. 

“Christ, Tommo,” Niall murmurs as he sits down in a flurry of jacket removing and tie adjusting, having just come from the office. “You look like shit. Are you sure you should be out in public?” 

Louis wants to glare at him and make a quip about looking better than everyone in the restaurant, but he honestly doesn’t have the energy. “I’d like to be curled in the fetal position under a weighted blanket, but I’m not contagious if that’s what you’re asking.”

Niall’s face turns from half hearted mocking to real concern. “What’s up?” 

Louis sighs. He doesn’t have to ask himself if he wants to have this conversation because he knows that he absolutely doesn’t. But Niall is his best friend, for better or worse, and if he can’t talk to Niall about Harry then what’s even the point of having someone to confide in? “It’s Harry.” 

To his surprise Niall doesn’t grumble or growl about Louis bringing Harry up. Actually, he pales a little. “Harry? What’s happened to Harry?” 

“Oh shit. Nothing,” Louis rushes, catching Niall’s meaning. “He’s fine..I think. We just…had a conversation.” 

Niall’s shoulders relax slightly before he takes a deep breath and sighs heavily. “Louis,” He starts but then leans in. “Louis, I can’t tell you how to live your life, no more than I can tell Harry. But I know that you know how much I love you both. And I have both of your best interests at heart when I say that as an outsider, as a bystander, your relationship was toxic.” 

Louis’ face heats up with instant rage. It’s not even Niall’s words, but his ability to reduce the complexities of their love to just those bad months. But before he can protest, Niall is talking, voice soothing if not borderline condescending. “There’s no doubt that you loved each other. Anyone within a mile could see that, but you’re both so damaged from it. I hate to see it still affecting you. Going cold turkey on him is probably the best thing you could have done, and you have to stop beating yourself up over it.” 

“Is it the best thing that Harry could have done?” Louis asks, not even masking the cold rage in his voice. It takes Niall back a bit. 

“Everyone deals with things differently. Clearly Harry has other demons to contend with. It’s not your fault he turned to alcohol. Just thank God he’s getting the help he needs. 

The worst part of this is that Louis believes fully that Niall is concerned for Harry, concerned for both of them. But God, how obtuse can one man be? 

“Maybe you should ask Harry yourself what caused him to have a drinking problem, and then make your judgements from there.” He lays heavy emphasis on the word  _ judgements _ just to get the point across. “Maybe one shouldn’t make assumptions when one isn’t as much of a bystander as one thinks.” 

He stands up at this, not able to physically sit any longer. He feels an itch to run and he listens, walking out the door without even looking backwards. 

Does he feel bad about what he said to Niall? Yes, he definitely does. Would he change it? No. He’s honestly tired of feeling defensive about Harry. What happened between them is their business. No one else's. Did Niall suffer? Louis is sure he did. But that doesn’t give anyone permission to make decisions about his life. He’s not sure why he allowed it to go on for so long, honestly. 

He guesses that this self realization means that he has made a decision about where he stands with Harry. It’s bittersweet. He pokes at his feelings for Harry like a tongue pokes at a sore tooth. He wants to unzip that duffle bag that he had thought that he buried forever. The problem, though, is that allowing himself this tiny pleasure, letting the warmth of their love bloom in his chest, forces him to face the idea that Harry may not feel the same way. Or even if he does (he does, Louis knows that he does) maybe he’s not willing to unbury all of the hurt that will inevitably come with it. 

It leaves Louis wondering what the hell to do next. He can’t hurt Harry. The thought of doing so makes his stomach turn. He feels in his gut that even just telling Harry that he loves him would do more damage than help, but he knows that he can’t just do nothing.

How is now knowing that he loves Harry and knows the truth about their life together and sees with clarity what he wants his future to look like, so much more of a minefield than when he couldn’t even hear Harry’s name without feeling a burning rage in his chest? 

God, he just wants to talk to Harry. “Fuck sakes, just call him,” he says to himself out loud, his voice echoing in his empty kitchen. Something that’s a mix of fear and anticipation swirls in his chest as he makes the decision. If he could just hear Harry’s voice, maybe things would be more clear. 

His hands clam up as he listens to the ring. He feels ridiculous for being nervous, but he knows why he does all the same. This could be it. This could be him letting Harry go, for both of their sakes. 

“Hello?” Harry’s voice comes on the line sounding as unsure as Louis feels. Of course Harry knows it’s him. 

“Hey.” Louis tries to sound upbeat and positive. Not like he’s scared shitless. “How’s it going?” 

There’s a pause. 

“Alright.” Harry doesn’t sound anymore sure of the conversation. This isn’t going well. “You?” 

“Oh, you know…” Louis swallows hard. He wishes that someone would swoop in and just say for him what he wants Harry to know so that he can hide his face in a pillow until it’s all over. “Still thinking about what we said to each other at the therapist.” 

“It was a lot,” Harry says. It sounds like an apology, but Louis isn’t sorry. 

“It wasn’t too much for you, I hope?” He shoots it back to Harry to get the heat off himself, hopefully. 

“Just another day with Dr. Cross.” Harry chuckles, but the stress is there, lingering under the surface. 

“I wish we had more time to talk. About more happy things.” He’s going around in circles but honestly he can’t bring himself to come out and say that he misses him.

Harry’s quiet on the other end for a moment before he sighs. “I didn’t think you had anything happy to say to me.” 

This shocks Louis. He can’t imagine why Harry would even think this. The therapy session was tough, of course it was, but they got through it together. Literally clinging to one another. “I have lots of happy things I want to say to you, Harry. What would make you think that I don’t?” 

“I don’t need pity,” Harry says with a slightly hard edge to his voice. Louis is taken aback. 

“I don’t pity you.” 

Harry sighs again. 

“You were good to help me with the therapy. I’m truly on the mend. Addiction is an ongoing disease, and I don’t know if I will ever feel truly free. But I know that I can live a happy life now. And I don’t know if I could have jumped that hurdle without you.” Harry pauses to take a breath. “But—” 

Louis wants to scream NO BUTS, but he remains silent, frozen in place. “I can’t rely on you to hold my hand through every hard thing in life. That’s how I got here, and I need to figure out how to do it on my own.” 

“What’s wrong with having someone’s hand to hold?” Louis is borderline hysterical. He thought that he was prepared to let Harry go if Harry didn’t want him anymore, but this isn’t that. Harry is trying to let Louis go, and that is the opposite of what Louis wants. 

“It’s not fair,” Harry says. It sounds like the simplest thing in the world, as if he isn’t tossing Louis’ entire future out the window with one sentence. 

“Not fair?” His voice cracks with indignation. “Harry Styles, you told me not three days ago that you still love me, and now you’re trying to release me like I’m a bird with a broken wing. THAT isn’t fair. I. Love. You. I. Want. You. And it’s not perfect, and I didn’t want you to be hurt by me loving you. I wanted to offer friendship or at the very least a shoulder to cry on, anything that would keep you near to me, but I will not be tossed aside and be told by someone else that my love for you doesn’t count for anything.”

He’s panting at this point, nearing hyperventilation. He feels like his life line is being abruptly cut off. “Who told you that?” Harry asks, sounding concerned. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Louis gasps. “None of what anyone thinks matters. What matters is me and you.” 

He feels a thread of calm in his chest and clings to it desperately. “If you want to move on, Harry, and forget what you’ve had to go through over the last couple of years, I understand. I truly do, and I will happily let you go. I will wish you nothing but happiness. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you. But if you think you’re doing me some sort of favour, then you need to kindly, and I mean this with the most love and sincerity that I have, get your head out of your ass.”

Harry barks in the loud and unexpected way that he sometimes does, and Louis’ heart aches to hear it again. But he doesn’t reply, and Louis doesn’t know what to do with that. 

“I didn’t call you so we could have this conversation. I didn’t want it to be like this, but here it is, on the table. I love you. I will never stop loving you. I never have stopped loving you. I’m yours, in whatever way you want me, Harry. And it’s up to you to decide how that’s going to be. I promise that whatever you want is what I will take from you. Take however much time you need. You know where I’m at.” 

He doesn’t know if he could take any sort of rejection at this point, so before Harry can say a word, he hangs up and turns off his phone. Maybe for just a little while he can pretend that it’s all going to work out. 

He couldn’t say what he did for the rest of the day. Stare at the wall, stare at the ceiling, stare into the fridge. Think of Harry. It’s worse than when they broke up, but because the frustration and uncertainty is replaced with sadness and understanding. 

It was easier to be angry. 

He considers several times turning his phone back on and just begging Harry to take him back, but some sort of internal self preservation saves him the humiliation of that. So at the late hour of nine pm he gives up and throws his quilt over his head. He hopes sleep gives him a short reprieve from the feeling of his chest tearing apart. 

Sleep, of course, doesn't just overtake him. His mind is going a mile a minute, and his entire body is still in some sort of flight response, making his legs want to twitch. But at least grabbing his large pillow and squeezing it to his chest gives him a little comfort. 

Then there’s a knock on his door. 

At first he thinks he imagined it. Then it happens again, and he assumes it’s Niall to chew him out some more, or Liam to check up on him as he has been doing the last few weeks. He doesn’t want to talk to either of them. 

The banging gets louder and faster. His heart rate speeds. An emergency? The flash of someone hurt or in danger drags him to his feet. He reaches for the door and opens it, for some reason expecting the worst. 

Harry is standing on the other side, looking dreadful. 

“Harry.” It’s all that will come from his mouth. 

“You hung up on me,” Harry replies. 

Louis’ first thought is has he been drinking? Did I cause him to relapse? “I’m sorry.” 

“I wanted to tell you that I want it.” Harry sounds out of breath, and Louis wonders if he ran from wherever he came. 

“Want what?” Hope springs up, and Louis tries desperately to keep it at bay. 

“You, us. Our life together, everything. I want it all. With you.” The dreadful look lifts and springs into a blooming smile. His eyes are clear. His cheeks flushed. “You’re you, and I’m me, and sometimes that’s shit but it’s always what I’ll want. Us. Just the way we are.” 

“Are you sure?” Louis’ got such a strong grip on the door handle that he’s scared he’s going to break it off the door. 

Harry takes a step into the home that they once shared. Louis can feel the warmth coming from his body, and he wants to wrap himself in it. “I’m sure,” he whispers before taking Louis’ face into his hand. 

“I’m sure, too,” Louis says, looking him in the eye and feeling the love that is between them. Harry kisses him, and it’s like he wakes up from a bad dream that has lasted for far too long. He doesn’t think anything will ever feel more right than this moment right here. 

“So what does this mean?” Louis asks after more touching and kissing. Every inch of Harry’s body brings him a thrill of recognition. His scent is like coming home again. He doesn’t want to let go. 

Harry tenses slightly at the question, but doesn’t move away. “I don’t know.” He wraps his arms around Louis, encompassing his whole body. Neither of them seem overly concerned that they’re still standing in Louis’ kitchen. “This is happening so fast.” 

Louis does pull away slightly at this, just so that he can look Harry in the eye. “No rush, love.” He smiles, hopefully reassuringly. “Just think of this as…knowing where one another stands.” 

“I don’t want to lose you again,” Harry says, and Louis knows that there’s a but at the end of that sentence. But he can’t run from the buts anymore. He nods, encouraging Harry to continue. “It’s going to be a lot of work. For both of us.” 

“Worth it though,” Louis replies. He’d be up for trying to move a mountain if someone told him it’s what he needs to do to keep Harry smiling. 

“We need to take it slow,” Harry says almost as a warning. “And there’s a lot of things still unsaid.” 

“We’ll say them all. And I will still love you when it’s done. I will love you until my dying breath I suspect.” He’s not being dramatic, just honest. 

But Harry blushes and shakes his head. “Jesus, Louis.” 

“You can’t scare me, Harry,” he says, taking Harry’s face in his hands, as if he would a distraught child. “You can’t say anything to make me want to change my mind.” Harry raises a brow as if Louis issued him a challenge. It makes Louis laugh. “Try me.”

Harry shakes his head. They’re slowly moving out of one another’s perimeter and into a more casual conversation. If someone came into the room right now they wouldn’t realise that Louis’ entire world had just changed. 

Louis moves to the kettle on the stove and fills it with water. He takes out a couple of mugs and hears a small catch in Harry’s breath behind him. He turns to see Harry’s chin crumpled and trying to school his features. 

“What?” He asks, slightly panicking despite his previous bravado about not being scared. Harry’s mood changing on a dime is definitely new. 

“You have my mug,” Harry says, staring at the counter. Louis looks down and sees it. He pulled out their favourite mugs. He didn’t even think about it. 

“I’m sorry.” He doesn’t really know what to say. Harry barely took anything with him after he left. Aside from a few bags of clothes and toiletries, anything else he claimed as his own just kind of stayed. Louis didn’t have the heart to get rid of anything. He kind of revelled in the pain he felt whenever something popped up that reminded him of better times. He bets that Dr. Cross could do lots with that information. 

“No!” Harry says, shaking his head and hands in unison. “No, I’m not upset.” 

He reaches out and touches Louis’ arm, like Louis is a lifeline. Just a light touch of Harry’s fingertips on Louis’ arm seems to calm Harry a little. It fills Louis with a joy that he has never felt before. “I’m just...You kept it. And it’s mine. You kept me.” 

The words didn’t make sense all jumbled together, but Louis knows what he means and nods. “I kept you. Always.” And then they’re both crying in one another’s arms. 

“Expect a lot of this,” Harry says into Louis’ hair. Half laughing, half sobbing. 

“Can’t wait,” Louis says, sounding much the same. 

  
  


Louis hums happily to himself as he adjusts a lock of hair near his cheekbone. He’s so caught up on his task and Wheat Kings blasting from his laptop speakers that he almost doesn’t notice his phone ringing. He slides the phone into his hand, still happily humming until he sees who’s calling. It’s Niall. Louis hasn’t talked to him since that night he walked out of the restaurant. He considers not answering, but that would be stupid. Niall is still one of his best friends. He doesn’t actually want that to change. He closes his laptop, abruptly ending the music and slides the answer button. 

“Hey,” he says, not pretending that he doesn’t know who is on the other end. 

“Hi,” Niall replies, sounding as reproachful as Louis. “Can we talk?” 

Louis hesitates. “Sure. What’s up?” He sits on the edge of his freshly made bed. 

“I talked to Harry.” Niall doesn’t beat around the bush. Louis doesn’t know what to feel, what he’s supposed to feel. Is this going to be another balling out for getting involved in Harry’s life? Is it going to be a resignation about the inevitable? “He told me everything.” 

“Everything?” Everything could mean just about anything, Louis thinks. 

“Enough, I guess.” He sounds reproachful, not what Louis thought would be happening. “Enough to make me realise that I need to apologise to you.” 

Well ,damn right he does, Louis thinks. “Yeah?” 

“I thought it was you,” Niall says simply. “I thought it was both of you.”

“Well, you made that very clear,” Louis quips, unable to keep the flare of anger at bay. “And what do you know, now that you had your little chat with Harry?” 

Niall hesitates, no doubt at the sting in Louis’ voice. “That I should have trusted my friend.” 

Louis sighs. He feels for Niall, he does. He knows that he just had Louis and Harry’s best interests at heart, but is it his job to comfort Niall after how untrustful Niall was of Louis? He doesn’t have the energy for it. “Listen, Niall. I didn’t know half of what was going on with Harry, and I was in a committed relationship with him. I blame myself for not seeing it, but I don’t blame myself for how Harry dealt with the problems in his life.” 

Not anymore. He doesn’t say that to Niall though. “And I don’t need anyone else doing it either.” 

“I just wanted you both to be happy.” Niall sounds so downtrodden that it’s starting to wear on Louis. 

“I know that, but it’s not always as simple as just telling people how to live their lives. Especially if you don’t have all the facts.” 

“You’re still mad at me,” Niall says. It’s a simple fact, not an accusation, and Louis guesses that maybe he is. “It’s alright. I get it. I still wanted to apologise for interfering.” 

“You were affected by Harry’s addiction as well.” Louis tries to keep from sighing again. He doesn’t want to lose Niall, and he doesn’t want Harry to either. “There are people you can talk to about that.”

“Harry suggested the same thing.” Niall’s words sound wet, and it clenches Louis’ chest. 

“And of course you can always talk to me. You know I love you.” 

“Do you?” He’s weeping now. Fuck, he can’t handle this big ball of feelings. By which, he means Niall. 

“Yes, of course I do. I just might be more likely to call you an idiot when you say something stupid from here on out.” 

Niall chuckles, just a little. “Sounds like a deal.” 

“Yeah? Good. How about we all have lunch next week.” 

“My shout.” Niall sounds infinitely more cheery now. What a rollercoaster. 

He just gets his phone put down long enough for the knock on his door. His entire body tingles as he goes to the front of the house. 

“Harry.” He’s almost breathless with happiness. He wonders if the feeling will ever dull. He gets butterflies every time he even thinks of him. Being in his presence, being under the ray of that smile, it is almost too much. He does a quick assessment. Bright eyes, pressed shirt, hair loosely curling around his ears, a slight pink in his cheeks. Perfect. 

“I’m fine, Lou.” Harry puts his arms out, letting Louis openly inspect him, but Louis isn’t assessing whether he’s sober or emotionally volatile. He’s compensating for all of the months when Harry felt alone, like no one saw him at all. 

“Yeah, you are,” Louis just replies, pulling Harry in by the waist.” It makes both of them giggle as their lips meet. 

“What about our date?” Harry asks without his mouth leaving Louis’ but at the same time he’s wrapping his arms around Louis’ back and pulling him even closer. They melt into one another, thoughts of dinner and small talk slowly fading away. 

“All the time in the world.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Anitra. I can't list all the reasons because there are too many. xx


End file.
